I did not take The Athlete, The Princess and a couple of friends to lunch on Friday and let them get ice cream after eating about half of their meals - collectively. And I did NOT let them get candy in the candy store afterwards, along with a kazoo. Nope, not me. And I did not giggle when my husband asked who was in charge of that outing. Because he knew that it couldn't have been me. And it wouldn't have been me that let them eat the candy and fresh chocolate chip cookies in their sleeping bags after bedtime while they were watching the Olympics. That would be so irresponsible and inappropriate.
It was not me that spent the entire day on Saturday doing housework and absolutely felt like it gave me the right to lounge around on Sunday. Not having to work on Monday was not so liberating that I laid in bed for hours with the kiddos watching movies and then let them have In and Out for dinner. No, not moi
And mostly, it can not be me that cries every single time I think that my first born is turning eight this week. I don't cry when I see a baby picture hanging in the hallway and think that my entire life is zipping by while I am fretting over skin care and grey hair. Not me that thinks I am still the mother of toddlers and that it's a viable excuse to be crazy. That chick is not me.
What didn't you do? Don't tell me. It's not me that laughs at your expense.